The 100th Annual Hunger Games
by ForEverdeen88
Summary: The Rebellion never happened. In this very special Quarter Quell, tributes will be reaped from the existing pool of fallen tributes from past years. They will patch up their bodies and send them back into the arena to fight once more. Glimmer, Cato, and Clove are all revived to be in the games. (The rewritten version of one of my old stories!)
1. Chapter 1

**The 100th Annual Hunger Games ; by ForEverdeen88**  
This year's Quarter Quell will be a reminder of the generosity that the Capitol has for our districts. Tributes will be reaped out of an existing pool of fallen tributes from previous games, and will be revived to once again fight to the death. The victor will bath in riches, along with a new chance at returning home to their families.

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**Chapter 1 ;**  
. . . . . A blinding white light is all I can see, and my eyes are suddenly burning in my skull. I wince, breathing in air so heavily that I can feel my ribs creak in my chest. I suddenly feel like I'm drowning in oxygen, and I gag on it, before my entire body suddenly feels numb with pain. I can't move. I'm strapped so tightly to a metal table, that not a muscle in my body can budge from that position. It hurts, it hurts so badly that I try to let out a scream, but no sound can even escape because I'm too weak to force it out. My eyes still clenched shut, I feel as if I've died and gone to hell... Although, maybe I have. There's a silhouette coming into my vision when I open my eyes again. A man, with a syringe in his hand. When he touched me, my entire body ripples in a stinging pain that makes tears pool up in my eyelids.

. . . . . That's when I suddenly begin to remember. My name is Glimmer, and the last thing I can remember was being chased by thousands of deadly tracker jackers. I was in the Hunger Games. I had fallen in love with a boy. He left me there to die; and I almost did. When I started to remember is when the pain became more familiar. The bumps on my skin were swollen from the poison of the stings I had gotten when I had passed out in the games. I don't know how long ago it was, but it seems like it was only just moments ago. Perhaps I never died, and they fished me out not knowing? Or perhaps I'm the victor, and now I'm laying in the hospital of the Capitol. Maybe I'm going home. My thoughts and confusion were suddenly cut off, when I felt an icy cold needle enter my arm, followed by burning hot fluid. I was knocked unconscious within seconds.

. . . . . When I awake, I find myself in a much more comfortable place than I was before. Instead of being strapped into a cold metal table, I'm wrapped up in warm blankets with a pillow underneath my head. My vision is blurry, and it feels as if my ears are clogged up, blocking out every bit of ambient sound in the room. When I sit up, I immediately regret it, because a shocking head ache takes my breath away for a moment. It goes away rather quickly, although my vision still hasn't cleared. I look around the room, trying to get my bearings. For a moment I think I'm trapped inside a box, with reflective walls and no windows or doors to be seen. I feel like there's eyes watching me somewhere, and after scanning the room again in fright, I realize that they're probably behind the glass where I can't get to them. It must be a side effect of almost dying in the games, to wake up and act as if life itself is teetering on a cliff.

The wall suddenly makes an odd noise, and the pressure in my ears unclog immediately after as if the box had been compressing the air on itself. Although my ears are better, my eyes are still out of focus. I'm taken aback when the wall literally sinks into the floor like a doorway. A man walks in, wearing a perfectly clean white doctor's coat. His dark purple hair is greased back in an odd fashion, and he wears a medical instrument around his neck. "Glimmer," he says. Hearing my name is like a breath of fresh air for some odd reason, although my entire body is tensed up in fear of whoever this is. I open my mouth to speak to him, but my vocal chords won't work. "Welcome back." He says, as I clasp my hands over my throat, as if it'd make them work again. "It's okay, you're just experiencing some trauma from being brought back." Brought back? He must mean from the games. "You should be able to talk again within the next few days, as you settle back into your body again." At least that was good news.

. . . . . After about an hour of asking many yes and no questions about how I felt, and how I'm recovering, he took on a more serious facial expression. "Well Glimmer, I have something I need to talk to you about. Do you remember what the Hunger Games are?" He asks, and I nod my head with a look that implies that he's stupid. How could I forget what the Hunger Games are? How could anyone forget? "Well I'm supposed to be the one to inform you, that you died twenty-six years ago." For a moment, I'm convinced that he's kidding. I didn't die, I blacked out after the tracker jacker attack. I'm alive, and I'm the victor. "This year is the year of the 100th annual Hunger Games. It's a quarter quell, and you were reaped as the female tribute from District 1." I have no idea what he's even talking about. "You were revived to be apart of the games, but don't worry, you'll go through training again in order to get prepared." This is some kind of cruel joke, and suddenly, I'm angry about it.

Pouncing forward on my bed, with nothing but my fingernails as weapons, I grip onto his face. I dig my claws in, before pummeling him onto the floor with all my strength. He has a syringe to put me back to sleep, but I knock it out of his hand, making it shatter on the wall. He suddenly yells for help, as I strike at his face. Two nurses run in momentarily, hoisting me off the man and throwing me up against the wall. I'm suddenly pinned there, and I realize how crazy I probably looked. Wearing nothing but a hospital gown, with a crazy eye and messy hair, they probably see me as some psycho mental patient. I'm squirming hard enough that I let out the first noise I've been able to make since I woke up for the first time. It sounded odd, like a deranged animal being held against it's will... Maybe thats what I am.

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**Author's Note ;**   
I originally started this story on my old account, Valkyrie550. I hadn't used it in a long time, but people really enjoyed the concept of this story, so I decided to rewrite it here. I hope you guys enjoy the new version as much as you enjoyed the old version. c:


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's note ;  
**Thanks to the people who have followed & supported this story so far. c: Please give me a quick review & let me know what you think!

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**Chapter 2 ;**  
. . . . . I didn't realized that I had been knocked unconscious until I wake up, my eyes drowning in sunlight which is coming in through the big glass window to the left side of my bed. My ears are ringing, and it's almost if I can hear a faint array of screams somewhere in the distance, and they come with a beaming headache too. I squeeze my eyes shut a couple of times before letting them soak in the brightness of the room. It stings like mad, but I suppose if I'm planning on seeing where I am anytime soon, I'll have to do it at some point.

Once everything is actually back into focus, I survey the room rather quickly with a sweep of my eyes, realizing immediately that this is definitely no hospital room. I feel the duvet of the bed, and pick up that it's made of extremely soft fabric, sewn into swirls that dance when you run your hand over them. The bed around me is covered in puffy luxurious pillows, all green and lavender colored, like the rest of the room. The floor is made of plush carpets, and there's a giant flat-screen television on the wall opposite of me. It takes a minute to process, but I figure out that I'm in the tribute living quarters; and suddenly, I start to believe the doctor I had seen before I was stabbed by a nurse with a tranquilizing syringe. How long I was asleep for between that attack, and now, I'm not sure. I don't know if this whole Quarter Quell thing is a reality, and I don't really know how long ago I was in the games. All I know, is that I'm in the tribute living center, in the bedroom that I stayed in before the 74th games.

. . . . . I gasp when the screams in my head suddenly intensify, badly enough that I try to cover my ears and block them out; but it doesn't work. My entire body is wracking with chills, and I bury my face into the blankets of my bed. They're loud enough now that I can make out their voices.

"Glimmer! Help me!" It was Cato. "Glimmer please! Help me!" I squeeze my eyes shut tight.

There's barking of the Capitol's mutts, followed by a canon and more screams for help, this time coming from Clove.

"Glimmer! GLIMMER!" Another voice mixes in with Cloves, and I recognize it to be the boy from District 11.

"You said her name! You SAID HER NAME!" A loud bang, followed by another scream, and a canon.

"HELP ME!" Came another voice, this time it was Marvel. The sound of an arrow being released from a bow string, followed by a third canon.

Lastly, buzzing. But not just buzzing, it was from tracker jackers. I could almost feel them swarming me, their noises so loud, that I let out a full-blown scream. When they keep going, I scream again, this time, a name; sounding muffled because of my broken vocal chords.

"CATO!" I scream in horror at the top of my lungs, suddenly begging that he'll come back to me.. that he'll save me.. "CATO!"

"Glimmer!" A less familiar woman's voice calls, and I can hear her running towards me. I panic, realizing that these footsteps are right next to me. Sitting up from my crouched position, I'm so frightened that I begin tumbling backwards until falling off the opposite side of my bed. "Glimmer, it's alright!" I covered my face as if she'd hurt me, and I lay there for a long moment, cowering, as she comes around to help me. She kneels next to me, and when I feel her cold skin on my arm, I recoil, almost sending my fist straight into her face. She dodges, luckily, and grabs my wrists as I struggle like a child in the middle of a nightmare. "Glimmer, sweetie, it's okay! You're having a nightmare!" She pleads, and after another moment of struggling, I get a good look at her face.

It's as if I had been asleep, and I've suddenly been awoken, because I'm staring into the face of my stylist, Estella.

. . . . . Suddenly I'm throwing myself into her arms. She's aged, but she's still just as beautiful as I remember her. Her curly purple hair has been replaced with long straight gray hair, dressed with purple tips and purple roots. Her face is covered in age lines, but to me, she still looks at flawless as she was before. Too shaken up to admire her any longer, I sit there in her arms and sob, my entire body shivering and bouncing with my uncontrollable breaths. I can't get the face of Cato out of my mind now, and I see him every time I blink. It hurts to even open my eyes though, because they're stinging violently with my own salty tears.

"You miss him." Estella said quietly, stroking the blonde hair out of my face. I let out another sob, nodding my head against her lap. "He was a good boy Glimmer... After you died, I could see the hurt in his eyes... He still had Clove, but he wasn't so prideful after you went away..." She explained gently, trying to cheer me up; but I don't think it was possible... Nothing could cheer me up. "He loved you Glimmer, I could see it." Another long sob escaped my throat, and I suddenly was aching to have him back. My Cato, the boy I fell in love with during the games... But it wasn't long before my sadness turned into anger, because I know he left me there. He left me there to die, so he could save his own skin. He didn't _love _me, he was _using_ me. You don't _abandon _people you love! ... You just don't do that.

. . . . . "Would you like to see him again, sweetheart?" She asks, and suddenly, my heart is pumping with adrenaline. Confusion hits me like a brick wall, and I raise my puffy red face up to look at her, eyes full of confusion and hurt. I thought he may have died by the way she had been speaking about him, and it dawns on me that he must have been the victor. My Cato had abandoned me, and _won _the Hunger Games. I sure as hell hope his life was miserable after he got out, because he doesn't deserve any better. I ache to yell at her for even suggesting such a thing, but I can't; I'm locked up inside my own mind because of these stupid games. They can't be real, I'm supposed to be _dead_. None of this is real. It _can't be real_.


End file.
